


The Modern Legend of Arslan

by AristocatSlippers



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Arslan Senki, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Romantically implied Arslan/Etoile, Sorry they're not actually dating, They're like prerelationship, schoolboy!arslan au, the heroic legend of arslan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AristocatSlippers/pseuds/AristocatSlippers
Summary: Modern school boy au drabble collection - they happen in chronological order but there's no true plot to them





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters like Garion and the rest of Elam's siblings don't exist in canon, but are part of the au. If you want to see fanart for this au go to thelazyfanartist on tumblr (they're not me but this was their au!)

Elam was late for school. Very, very late. Sleeping through his alarm because he worked too late yesterday? Not good. Making them late by forgetting to take his siblings to school? Even worse. To top it all off though, some random kid had to fall on his head (but hey, at least he didn’t get a concussion).

The first time Elam met the white-haired boy he dubbed “The Klutz” had been mid April and two weeks into the new school year. Arslan (he later found that was his name) had been climbing a tree to help a baby bird he’d found. It’d fallen out of its nest so he kindly tried to help it, cautiously scaling the tree with one hand and two feet. The chick was protectively clutched in the other. Proudly, the boy deposited it amongst its siblings and smiled at it. Unfortunately for Elam, the boy was clumsy and lost his footing just as he was walking underneath the tree.

“Watch out!” 

Elam would have, he really would, if a foot hadn’t connected with his head a second after. Sprawled out on the ground, glancing to his left Elam could see the boy rubbing his foot, groaning quietly in pain.

“I’m so sorry I fell on you! I was just trying to help that baby bird but I slipped…” 

Elam nodded, it was okay, really. His head hurt a bit and he’d been knocked over but he was fine; he couldn’t be so sure about Arslan though. Slowly standing, the boy reached out a hand to help Elam up even though his ankle was throbbing. Taking his hand, Elam stood too.

“I’m Arslan by the way. We’re late though so I really should run!” he waved goodbye at him then tried to rush off to school before the bell rang. 

Although, Elam noticed it was more of a limp with the guy favouring his right foot. Ah, “Wait!” -he always kept bandages in his bag; they were handy for clumsy little brothers and sisters. Despite the shout, Arslan didn’t look back - either he hadn’t heard it or hadn’t wanted to wait. _That had to hurt though._

Luck, perhaps, wasn’t completely against him since his homeroom teacher was even later than him. 

Gieve-sensei walked into the classroom ten minutes late with a Starbucks; when asked why he took so long he simply said “Wooing the love of your life (the Starbucks barista) sometimes it takes longer than you expect”.

Elam was just glad that there was no detention for him; thank goodness his teacher was so eccentric. Eccentricity, however, did nothing to keep him interested in maths. Solving the equations on the work sheets was easy, so Elam finished quickly, letting his attention wander across the room to the boy he met earlier. Arslan didn’t really seem to be concentrating, it looked more like he was doodling and staring out the window instead of doing maths. So, he was a daydreamer, huh? _So am I,_ Elam thought before he put his head down and napped till the end of class. Gieve didn’t comment since he’d done the work, silently taking it to grade it (96%) before returning it.

A prodding to his side was what woke Elam at lunch, someone very annoying was poking him.

“Hey, wake up, you’ll miss lunch…”

Wearily opening his eyes, Elam glanced up to face the white haired boy and the otherwise empty classroom (what was his name again? Arslan right?); he was sort of leaning on his desk, as if to keep the weight off his feet. Reaching into his bag, Elam held up a finger and pulled out a bandage, gesturing for him to sit on the desk next to him. Confusedly, Arslan obliged and sat down. “For your ankle, you twisted it right?” Elam noted the surprised look on Arslan’s face without saying anything, instead grabbing his leg, choosing to bandage up the injured foot. Smiling brightly, Arslan jumped up from the desk, asking if Elam wanted to come to lunch with him. They walked down the hall quietly, footsteps echoing in the silence, though Arslan didn’t seem to be leading them to the canteen.

He could see why Arslan would prefer to eat outside, it was peaceful. Warm rays of sunlight were warded off by cool breezes here, on which cherry blossom petals fluttered to the ground - here was more comfortable than the loud chatter of people inside. Settling into the grass Arslan pulled out his lunch, Elam copied. Only he found that his was flattened to the point of being inedible, the bento box cracked (figures it would be, he’d landed on it). Fingers feeling in his pocket, he found it empty just as expected; with no money to buy any lunch he guessed he’d have to just skip the meal. Wordlessly Arslan broke his sandwich in half, offering it to Elam (along with some cookies and a drink as well). Maybe he wouldn’t have to go hungry after all…

The second time Elam met Arslan was almost a week later (he’d been busy). This time he was at the park with his two younger sisters and little brother, keeping an eye on them as they played. He didn’t really get to spend much time with them due to his job, but his parents worked hard too so he saw it as his responsibility to take them places like the park. Across the green space Elam could see his friend (were they friends?) sitting reading a book. Entranced by the book, Arslan was detached from the world around him, except the football that hit his side. 

Garion hadn’t meant to aim the ball at anyone, when Elam jogged over he hadn’t much enjoyed being told off either. “Well, are you going to apologise?”

Garion nodded, bending over to pick up the ball, then mumbling out a small apology. Arslan simply laughed, wrinkles creased around his eyes. To an exhausted Elam, it seemed kind of strange but he didn’t give it much thought. Visibly deflating with relief (Arslan wasn’t mad), Elam flopped down into the grass next to him. Resting against the same tree as his friend, he closed his eyes for what was only meant to be a minute.

Arslan looked at his tired friend, could hear his stomach rumbling and knew that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet today, nor had he slept long. Elam’s sisters and brother seemed a bit worried too, stopping playing over looking at their brother in concern. In a whisper (so as not to wake him), Arslan called Daryun, asking if he could bring a picnic for five and a few blankets. It was still warm when Elam was woken once again by poking, though the sky was beginning to change colours; he found he was covered by a blanket with a picnic basket to his side that contained a note. Opening it, it read I fed them and watched them for about two and a half hours, I hope you had a good nap. I had to go home though so I told them to wake you.

Elam smiled a soft smile as he took his sister’s hands and walked his three siblings home. Although Garion was still sulking about being told off.


	2. Chapter Two

It was ridiculous that even Daryun's own impatient tapping on the steering wheel was grating on his nerves. He'd been waiting over an hour for Arslan in the sweltering black car, and frankly he had no idea what to do. Are bodyguards supposed to wander onto school property to look for kids if they don't show up to come home? What if some teacher decided to throw him off the property altogether as soon as they saw him? These long afternoons waiting, he noted, were becoming increasingly frequent. Daryun refused to acknowledge the possibility that Arslan would go around getting himself detentions, opting to amble idly around the grounds rather than wallow in his boredom. The school was quite a sight, actually, red brick walls with ivy creeping up the corners. Huge window panes refracted broken up rainbows of sunlight into his eyes, almost enough to blind him though not quite; he could still see the myriad of coloured flowers that littered the grass. Definitely fancy enough for a business tycoon's son. Against the sunlight, he raised his hand to shield his eyes, assessing the area to find him but finding hide nor hair of Arslan.

A familiar voice (Elam's, he thought) encouragingly shouting "You can do it!" from not too far away alerted Daryun to where the kid was, following the sound he arrived at the fence of the school's baseball pitch. Just in time to see a red headed girl strike Arslan out, too. When the ball came his way he swung laughably wide, utterly missing the ball. It was a wonder, really, that he didn't throw the bat. In all honesty, Daryun was struggling to refrain from laughter, desperately trying not to damage the boy's already wounded pride any further. Disheartened, Arslan watched Elam swing and miss too. Then, on the next throw, Elam's bat connected with the ball in a resounding thwack which resulted in a home run. Elam started running round the diamond, feet slamming against the dusty white plates whilst the ball went sailing over the fence; Gieve (who had taken to coaching out of a claimed love of sport but in reality was there to spend more time with "The Lovely Lady" Farangis) let out a low whistle, impressed.

Eyes following the ball, he looked even more impressed when Daryun easily caught it from above his head as it came down arcing over the top of the wire-crossed fence. Although, Gieve did find it somewhat curious as to why a random man was watching baseball practice. Realising he'd been noticed, Daryun unlatched the gate, making his way onto the pitch to return the ball. Handing it to the girl as he passed her, he continued walking until he stopped in front of Arslan. "Hey Kiddo, you know, if you're gonna be" Daryun paused to glance down at his watch, "Oh an hour and a half late, remember to call me so I can pick you up later." Despite his slight irritation, he fondly ruffled Arslan's hair until he nodded meekly, promising to call next time. Maybe teaching the kid how to swing a bat properly was in order. Though he was proud that the kid had made the team. Gazing at the low hanging sun, Farangis decided it was time to finish practice, sending the kids home.

Thinking about it, he wasn't exactly sure when dropping off Elam at his job after practice had become routine. Nor was he sure why Narsus waited by the window simply to greet them then talk his ear off about art (evading his attempts at showing them his own was one hell of a feat) albeit Daryun did love catching up with one of his old friends. They never stayed long, always returning to the lavish but loveless house Arslan called home; the one Daryun had become accustomed to trying to liven up to make him smile. It was an enormous and empty place, built from grey stones with long windows to let in light. Polished white marble floors that reflected frowning faces more often than smiling one; he wished that the reflections would be smiling ones. Why wouldn’t he? He'd been with Arslan a long time, after all, of course he did. So long, in fact, that he could see through today's bubbly front, hiding the disappointment of not matching up to the others. Long enough that Daryun silently got a ball and a bat from the shed outside (even that was fancy), asking just by holding them up with his head cocked to the side. Taking the bat in his arms, Arslan sighed. His stance was wrong, to begin with. That was the first thing Daryun corrected, gesturing for him to raise it just a little bit higher. When he had, Daryun pitched the ball - it's just a straight ball but Arslan still cannot hit it. His eye is on the bat and his arm, not watching the ball. Swinging it powerfully, Arslan accidentally launches the bat right at Daryun's head. His eyes widen and he yelps, beginning to shout a warning which has barely made it past his lips before Daryun expertly ducks. Any relief they would have felt is shattered just as loudly as the window the bat smashes.

Shocked as they are, it soon turns into uncontrollable laughter; they laugh so hard that their sides hurt and they're clutching them on the floor. Tears brim in their eyes, after a while sound no longer comes out - just a breathy wheeze. Eventually it subsides to giggling and Arslan shoots up. Surveying the damage to his neighbour's house, he jets off in search of his cheque book (someone had to pay for it). The neighbour, a red-faced and bald middle-aged man, comes out whilst Arslan is still searching for it, fixing an angry glare at Daryun and pointing an accusing finger. He shifts uncomfortably, apologising profusely and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as they rant on about it being a stained glass window. Stopping the childish grin from slipping onto his face is a surprisingly difficult task; the corner of his lips are just slightly tugging upwards when Arslan reemerges from the house, cheque book in hand and ready to pay off the furious man.Satisfied, the man disappeared indoors - he kept their bat.

It’s not really a big deal, once he’s gone they go back to the shed and retrieve another one. Arslan lets out an anxious chuckle, piping up with “How about we go to the park to practice instead” Daryun nods, he couldn’t say Arslan wasn’t wise. The streets they walk down to get there are quiet, filled with the breezy evening air and the sound of squawking birds. Their brother-like banter replaces the easy silence as Daryun teases Arslan, then offers valuable advice on how to do better - listing things such as: keep your eye on the ball, lift the bat a bit higher, don’t swing too hard or you’ll lose your grip. Arslan takes the advice with grace, grateful for the help in bettering his skills.Time hardly seems to have passed when they arrive at the park.

It’s not the same as the last time they were there, Elam’s not napping by the tree this time and his siblings aren’t running around madly. There’s also no picnic - Arslan’s stomach mourns that fact (a cake would be highly enjoyable at any time of day). He knows where they all are though, Elam at his job and siblings being babysat by his second most trusted childhood babysitter (Daryun had always been grateful that Jaswant was available when he wasn’t - he wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with his pseudo-brother). Still, it’s just as pretty with freshly blooming cherry blossom and apple blossom trees; petals gently flutter down over their heads as they practice. He must’ve thrown the ball at least a hundred times before they stop, hot and sweaty and panting, cooled only slightly by the night time air. Their practice isn’t a wasted effort though, every couple throws Arslan would get off a good hit - if he jumped high enough he could catch some but more often than not it ended in jogging around the grass, occasionally rummaging in bushes when the ball went into them. The almost completely set sun is an indicator to go home, in the soft light Daryun looks down at the genuine (somewhat prideful) joy back in Arslan’s face and smiles when their stomachs rumble. Damn, he was hungry… and kinda far away from the house with no car to drive (ah the cons of walking). Patting on his arm from Arslan snaps him out of his thoughts, “Look, there’s a bakery across the street. We can eat there!” he points enthusiastically at a building glowing far brighter than the currently starless, soon to be inky black night sky.

Inside smells like fresh bread and cakes, scents of yeast and burnt sugar wafting up to tickle their noses. The air in here is warmer, sheltered from the cold. As they open the door, the bell at the top jingles and the woman looks up from the counter, speaking in the polite voice that Daryun’s sure every cashier uses. “Hello, what would you like?” Daryun goes straight for his favourite - a steak pasty. Quietly, she packages the food into a crinkling paper bag while Arslan’s eyes are still roaming over the different options. Eventually he settles on a sausage roll, ordering it he takes out his wallet and hands the woman far too much money for far too simple items. They call it a tip then leave, she looks surprised but appreciative nonetheless. Behind them the door slams shut and the bell jingles again. The walk home down dark streets is a tranquil one, filled with tired silence. Sinking their teeth into the flaky, golden pastry they find them something worth savouring. Every bite is delicious and the food is gone all too fast, leaving them no longer hungry but definitely tired. Both are longing for a soft bed (and Arslan’s house certainly had the best ones).

On that Friday is the first match of the season. Daryun’s not the only adult to show up to support someone but there aren’t many people there in general so he’s kind of shocked to see Narsus there. He quirks a curious eyebrow up at him in question, Narsus shrugs at him. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” Daryun’s about to retort when he sits himself down beside him, holding up a finger to silence him “I have to show up for my favourite godchild’s first match!” 

Smacking his palm into his forehead, he shook his head and muttered “He’s not even your godchild you lunatic, just some old friends’ son.” 

Narsus stared at him in disbelief, it almost seemed as if he was offended. Good, the sentimental idiot. Retorting teasingly Narsus smirked at him “And why are you here, Daryun?” 

Sighing since he knew where his friend was going with it, Daryun reluctantly answered “To support my little brother, what else?” 

What else would Narsus do but throw his own words back at him? Rolling his eyes, he listened to the gloat in Narsus’ voice “He’s not even your brother you lunatic, he’s just some kid you babysit.” Daryun was kind of grateful for the shrill whistling that interrupted their bickering. The game was about to start. Arslan’s team was batting first - according to the referee.

Both watched interestedly from their seats in the bleachers, the other team was competitive. Maybe a little too competitive for high school baseball but it wasn’t like the match was a friendly either. Neither side wanted to lose, their school pride was on the line. Maybe that was why the blonde haired pitcher threw the ball so aggressively. Taking aim, she swung her arm back, releasing it from her fingertips at full force. It moved in a white blur, speeding past the batter (neither Daryun nor Narsus knew who they were) with a whistle before they’d even managed to bring the bat forwards enough to hit it. The catcher caught it, the ball making a thudding sound on impact with their hand, then threw it back. “Strike One!”

The girl throws the ball again, and they swing and miss again “Strike Two!”

Uneasily they swallow, preparing for their final attempt. She throws it again and they miss one last time “Strike Three! Batter out!”

Dejectedly they go to join the other members of their team in the dugout as Elam steps up to the batting square. There’s a determined set to his shoulders and a focused expression on his face (who the hell knows why they’re all so serious? None of the spectators do). This time when she pitches a powerful curveball she’s surprised. Elam hits it, not the same as his home run from practice but it’s a hit all the same, it cuts through the air faster than he can run, he’s halfway between the first and second base when one of the fielders catches it. He’s ready to turn around, caught out, only stopped by the cheers of Daryun and Narsus from the stands (as well as all his teammates, though their cries seem somehow less important) “He dropped it! Keep running!” 

Listening to them, he starts moving again, feet pounding the ground and reaching third base before he stops, safe and unable to move forward since they’ll tag him if he moves to reach the last one. Elam smiles brightly up at the stands, he hadn’t noticed them before but as he’s gasping to regain his breath he thinks he’s glad to have people to cheer him on. They give him a thumbs up then turn their eyes towards the next batter - Arslan.

Before pitching, the girl stretches a little, hands above her head, then drags them down violently. Chucking the ball in a fast straight ball, she smiles proudly to herself as he swings and misses, barely anyone ever hits those ones. It’s not as wide as normal (for him) and he keeps his eye on it. Concentrating completely, on the next throw it connects. There’s a lot of force in his swing, causing the ball to go flying over the fence and out of bounds. One side of the (admittedly small) crowd of spectators erupted in a roar whilst the other side glared at them. Paying them no mind, Arslan sprinted around every base just behind Elam - a home run. He supposes all that extra practice really paid off.

The rest of the inning went similarly: the girl throwing aggressively good pitches, their batters occasionally getting off a hit, them running trying to avoid the ball, scoring some points but only one more home run. (The red-headed girl had hit it, Daryun only found her name from her teammates’ chants of “Alfarid! Alfarid!”) That was until one got tagged out and a second got striked out, signalling a break and the change over. They’d at least gotten a decent number of points, but the hot sun was wearing on them. Narsus nudged Daryun to gain his attention “They all look desperate for a drink, got any money?” Rummaging around in his pockets, he pulled out a 1000 yen note, reluctantly handing it over to Narsus. The man sprung up heading straight for the vending machine at the edge of the court. Once he’s gotten out three drinks, he grabs the change and shoves it in his pocket then turns towards the dugout. Cupping his hands around his mouth,”Arslan! Elam! Catch!” Elam caught the underarm throw with one hand, whilst Arslan’s slower reflexes left him more unlucky. The bottle hit him square in the chest - that’ll leave a bruise. Wincing, he took a grateful sip of the water. 

Satisfied, Narsus wandered back up to the stands to his seat ignoring the expectant hand waiting for the third drink. Smugly, he twisted the cap off and took a huge mouthful, “Hey! You bought that with my money! Give it here!” The lid wasn’t quite back on properly when Daryun first grabbed for the soda bottle. The liquid sloshed around inside as Daryun wrestled him for it, spilling out all over Narsus. He was wet, and very, very sticky. Grinning widely at him was Daryun, “Serves you right! Ha! You don’t even have a change of clothes!” safe to say he was unimpressed. He was definitely keeping the change now. The next inning began with a very grumpy, sticky, soaking Narsus watching from the stands sat beside a cruelly pleased Daryun. Fidgeting with his clothes, Narsus resignedly turned towards the match. Despite their competitiveness, against Alfarid’s explosive curveballs they were barely getting anywhere. No further than first base most of the time. Arslan and Elam’s team was full of impeccable fielders. Two strike outs and they were only five batters in, gaining runs was slow going due to that. Sixth to bat was the other team’s pitcher, she was just as good at batting as she was at striking people out - given she did that with the first batter. A fierce look on her face accompanied her powerful hit, she didn’t hesitate even a second before running. Already at second base before it had even started to fall towards the ground. Arslan jumped in an attempt to catch it, it smacked painfully into his hand, stinging even through the mitt. Fumbling, he dropped the ball before stooping to pick it up again, overarm throwing it towards another teammate to try and tag her out. Too slow, she managed to get around. Panting, she proudly high-fived her friends with a confident smile firmly on her face. Trying to dissipate the pain, Arslan shook his hand as he stared at her - it really hurt. Her victory was short-lived when their next batter wasn’t hitting the ball. Alfarid threw a fastball that hurtled towards their bat so quickly they didn’t have time to react. Farangis blew her whistle as Gieve called “Strike One!”

Alfarid threw the ball again “Strike Two!”

And one last time “Strike Three! Batter out!”

Innings switching a second time, they went similarly - Arslan, Elam and Alfarid collecting runs (along with the others on their team, Daryun couldn’t really identify them - given he didn’t know their names and all). The other team struggling to do the same so frequently when they were batting. Although, that didn’t mean it wasn’t close - whenever the girl got off a good hit they’d get three at once (the other two batters on bases running to finish). Arslan couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to outshine her team. At the end of the match Farangis called the winners “Pars High School wins!” Narsus hooted delightedly - Daryun would have called it overenthusiastic if asked. They laughed on their way down, listening carefully to the girl as she stormed over to the trio congratulating themselves. “HEY! Just know, next time we’re going to beat you guys!” she made angry hand gestures at them, just to ensure she had their interest. Alfarid made a face at her, sticking out her tongue and Elam raised an eyebrow. Extending his hand, Arslan asked with a genuineness to his voice that she couldn’t get mad at “Alright, then. I’m Arslan, what’s the name of the person who’s going to beat me next time?”

She huffed, ignoring his hand and answering furiously “Etoile!” then she stormed off.

Daryun and Narsus came down the last of the steps then, bickering about whether Narsus was getting a lift home or not. He’d relent eventually, but he was going to make a fuss about it first. They high-fived the proud kids, Daryun clapped Arslan on the back “Good going kid! You guys won your first match!” Had Arslan been younger and smaller Daryun might have put him on his shoulders and ran around to celebrate the win. He wasn’t quite sure when he’d grown up so much.


	3. Chapter Three

Baking was definitely not a skill of Daryun's, so when Arslan posed him the question “Do you know how to make a cake?” he was inclined to say no. However, the pleading look on the kid’s face was one that could easily sway him. Daryun shook his head, rocking on his heels he hummed in thought, “We could probably look up a recipe. Although I have no idea why you don’t just buy a cake?”

Arslan shrugged at him “I want cake and something to do, two in one!”

Daryun nodded, tapping his chin “Alright then, can we make it caramel flavour?” Arslan instantly agreed. That settled it then, Daryun wandered into the kitchen as Arslan went typing into Google “How to make a caramel cake” and pulled up a recipe. Haphazardly stacking them on the bench, Daryun pulled random bags of ingredients out of the pantry; he had no idea how to make a cake. Flour, eggs, butter, sugar… that was it right? He set the open bag of flour down with a thump, recoiling as the white powder sprayed up into his face.  
Flour cloud still hanging in the air, Arslan walked into the room with the now printed recipe only to choke on it. Through his coughing fit, he made a face at Daryun - an expression of suffering and confusion. “Are you…” another cough “trying to…” a hefty pat to the chest “to kill me or something?”

Wry smile forming on his lips, Daryun pointed up at his flour-covered, white as a ghost face then at the bag “Yeah, I need someone to haunt this place with me - there’s your makeup”

Chuckling lightly, Arslan placed the recipe on the once sparkling black island. Beginning to read off what they needed, Arslan started to organise what was on the bench whilst Daryun stared at it quizzically. He wasn’t sure whether the vagueness of the instructions he was currently staring down was a good or bad thing; he wasn’t a baker. “Sieve the flour into the bowl…” An indiscriminate amount went into the sieve which Daryun tapped at furiously to make it fall through faster. “Cream the butter and sugar together, oh, can I do this part?” Arslan carefully weighed the specified amounts then tipped them into the bowl, mashing at it to form a sweet paste. “Alright Daryun, you add the eggs and flour whilst I make the caramel”

Trusting him with this was, in fact, a mistake, he grabbed a random number of eggs to crack into the bowl. He mixed it together with any technique he might have possessed flying straight out the window. When everything had - sort of - come together he scrutinised it dubiously, waiting upon the caramel to finish whatever it was he’d made so far. After five minutes of boiling sugar and butter, Arslan poured the cream into the pan, caramel sputtering at him. Pouring it straight into the bowl, Daryun mixed it until it all seemed to form a batter. It went straight into the cake tin and then the oven.

They watched it intently, as it bubbled but didn’t rise in the slightest - slowly cooking. Caramelising sugar into a golden brown top. When 30 minutes had passed they skewered it with a knife that came back dry to indicate it was done. Taking it out, it was plain to see that the ‘cake' was a mess. Flat, unrisen, dry. Arslan prodded it tentatively “Are you sure we didn’t make a rock instead?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t. To fully understand the extent of their failure, one of them would have to taste it. Neither wanted that honour. Sly smile curving at the corner of his lips, Daryun mused that they wouldn’t have to taste it at all. “Hey, what time is Narsus coming over? 4pm?”

Arslan nodded at him, looking at the clock “Yeah, and it’s 3:30 now so he should be here in about half an hour with Elam.”

Glancing down at the cake, Daryun grinned “Do you want to decorate it and feed it to him?”

Hesitant though he was, mulling it over Arslan did find that it seemed rather fun. Grabbing a little black wallet off the counter, he pushed it into his pocket and ran out the front door, forgetting to close it as he called “I’m buying marshmallows and sprinkles!”

Pushing it closed, Daryun gently shook his head. Then he wandered back into the kitchen to start on the buttercream. He pulled out a bowl, filled it and stirred furiously. Once it was made he spread it over the cake with a palette knife, grunting in frustration when it didn’t go as even as he wanted. Arslan walked back in to find he’d already given up and was now glaring angrily at the cake. Marshmallows suddenly being ripped from his hand, Arslan watched in amusement as Daryun tore open the bag and dumped the entire contents on top the iced cake. Grabbing the sprinkles next he poured almost half of the shaker on it. Stepping back to look at it, he regarded the cake with a wrathful pride until the doorbell rang.

Arslan answered, moving aside to let Elam and Narsus enter for their weekly games night. It was just the four of them, but even that was more than it used to be. Daryun cut the cake and handed two plates of it to their friends as Arslan set up the wii. Both viewed it with a degree of wariness. Arslan whispered into Elam’s ear not to eat it as Daryun urged Narsus to do the opposite, “Go on, we made it for you so you better damn well eat it.”

Hesitantly, Narsus cut away a piece with the fork handed to him, raising it to his mouth unsurely. Chewing a rock, he mused, might have actually been easier. He spat it back out immediately. Hating it the second it hit his taste buds, Narsus emptied his mouth leaving mush on the plate; he ignored the collective looks of disgust. “Maybe you guys should get cooking lessons… There’s a good place in the shopping centre - I’d offer my hotel’s chef to you but I think he’d cry if he saw your cooking!”

Even losing at Mario Kart didn’t leave such a bitter taste in his mouth...

* * *

 

Busy isn’t a strong enough word to describe the shopping centre, people squeeze past Arslan and Daryun inside of it; their scents of sweat and perfume mingling with chocolates, pastries and coffee from the nearby cafés, outside of one is a table full of samples and a lady brightly offering them to passersby. Arslan’s outstretched hand just misses the pastry he was aiming for as Daryun pulls him away, over the din of conversation, tapping of footsteps on the ground and music blaring on the overhead radio, Daryun’s voice is almost inaudible, “That’s not what we’re here for. Come on, we’ll be late.”

He reaches just a little bit further, snatching one off the table in triumph. He grins at the lady, shoving it in his mouth straight after. Daryun just shakes his head. As his head turns, out of the corner of his eye another shop catches his attention. He’d wanted to be early, that meant there was still twenty minutes to spare (punctuality is an important quality to have) - that means there’s time to go in the shop then. Unsurprisingly, Arslan glares just a little when he steps into the small shop. In contrast to the rest of the centre, inside is near enough empty and nowhere near as brightly lit. Soft lights reflect off glinting metal, jewels sparkling on the hilts of various swords.

The reasons for a (replica - or at least, he hoped they were replicas) weapons shop in the middle of a suburban shopping centre made no sense to Arslan, but the smile on Daryun’s face made him glad nonetheless. Making sure Daryun was still gazing fixedly at the sword first, he turned towards the girl behind the counter; there were lots of finely crafted bows and arrows, pretty swords and daggers to buy, none of them caught his eye. Still, she perked up at the potential customer rather than just someone browsing.

Looking at her face, there was something familiar about it. Arslan drummed his fingertips against his legs, trying to figure out just what it was. It took him a minute before he snapped his fingers together in remembrance. On her face sat an expression somewhere between a smile and a scowl, Arslan just laughed at her, “Dislike the other team that much, do you?”

She shook her head, “It’s not… I don’t dislike you guys that much - I just want to win the season,” Étoile let her chin land in her hand “Anyway, why are you here? You don’t exactly look the type who can use a sword or a bow.”

Arslan pointed over at his bodyguard - although he much preferred to call him a friend - “No, but he is.”

Étoile glanced over at Daryun, still lovingly admiring the sword - she thought he looked about ready to kiss it. “How much for it?”

For a moment she just stared unbelievingly at him, then slowly she blinked, “One hundred and fifty thousand yen.” Was he seriously planning on just buying that sword for the sake of it?

Letting out a low whistle, Arslan pulled out a card and nodded to himself, muttering, “I’m gonna be broke in a minute, but it is his birthday today.”

Étoile only just caught the words falling from his lips, she’d be close enough to broke buying something just a twelfth of the price. In his eyes though, she thought she saw genuine fondness and wondered maybe that would be worth it. “So, do you just get handed this on a silver plate or do you actually have to earn it?”

Arslan considered for a moment, “I guess you could say silver plate,” His father didn’t really care what he did as long as it didn’t cause him any hassle. So not exactly luxury, not so pampered as he could be - not a silver plate but he supposed that was the closer option. It wasn’t like he had a job or anything; his only responsibility was that of keeping up appearances.

“Rich boy,” she muttered underneath her breath.

He flashed her a fake smile in response and drummed his fingers on the counter again as he inserted his card. The transaction beeped in completion, he pulled the card out scanning the desk, eyes resting on a cup full of sharpened pencils and a pad of post-it notes. “Got a pen and paper?”

She silently handed them over. Scribbling quickly on the paper, he tapped at it when he spoke “Could you get it delivered to this address? Also, if there are any problems just call this number.”

Glancing down at the information he had jotted down, Étoile nodded at him. “Any particular time you want it delivered? We do same day delivery as long as you buy before 5pm.”

“As soon as possible, there’ll be someone in to sign for it.” Spinning on his heel, he waved his thanks at her. Then he began to pull Daryun out of the shop, though he only moved an inch. “Thought you didn’t want to be late, Daryun.”

At that, he started moving again. Outside the shop, he kept heading towards their next disaster. The cooking class Narsus had recommended wasn’t so far away. More that Narsus had booked and paid for it without ever consulting him than recommended it. He was desperate never to be tortured like that again. They rounded the next corner and found themselves outside a fairly average looking building, a sign in a cursive font hung above the door saying “Shapur and Isfan’s Cooking School.”

A bell above the glass door chimed as they walked in, no one sat behind the desk to check comings and goings - it seemed you could just waltz in without paying if you really wanted. Following the directions of an arrow on another sign they found the kitchen easily. They each grabbed a black apron off the pegs at the back of the room. It looked rather simple, white cupboards beneath cream coloured countertops. Each countertop was a work station for two with one gleaming silver sink to share. The walls were a cool baby blue; Daryun thought maybe that was because people cooking get stressed and blue is supposed to be a relaxing colour - he wasn’t sure quite how effective it actually was though.

Aside from the two men wearing unnecessarily puffy hats, there weren’t very many people in the room. At least it meant their workspaces wouldn’t be crowded; despite not being a guarantee of the quality of the classes.

One of them clapped their hands, silencing the room. The man pointed to himself, “I’m Shapur,” then at the other, “this is my brother Isfan.”

“Alright, today we’re going to start off with something easy: chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.”

The class nodded in response, some beginning to reach for their recipe sheets. “So, the first step is making sure you weigh everything out carefully, this is important guys.”

Daryun sheepishly admitted to himself that he was perhaps the reason their cake had gone so wrong. He grabbed the scales, meticulously pouring flour into a bowl until he got to the exact measurement of grams. A duly noted improvement.

Next to him, Arslan was doing the same; concentration painted clearly on his face. After weighing all their ingredients both looked to the front again. Isfan waited another moment for everyone to finish, “Moving on, put the butter and sugar into the bowl. Cream them together by mashing them with your spoon.”

Carefully following the instructions read to him, Daryun sieved flour and cracked eggs. Mixing and folding it as demonstrated by Shapur, he found that his cake batter didn’t look so bad. Shapur’s still seemed superior though.

Isfan clapped his hands again, “Okay, now spread the batter in the tin, make sure it’s even!”

“Lastly, place in the oven and cook until risen and dry when poked with a knife. Don’t open the door too much though, if you do all the hot air will escape and they won’t cook. We most certainly don’t want poor quality cupcakes. Whilst you wait you should clean your dishes.”

Arslan and Daryun each slid their cakes into the oven they were sharing, one with a hopeful look directed at their cake; the other’s face held a grimace. Crouching for a moment more, Arslan stood up starting on the dishes, doing them in silence for a fair while.

“Hey. You know that sword earlier?” Daryun absently held up a plate to the light, disappointed that it didn’t shine the same way, “Wasn’t it so cool?”

Arslan nodded in affirmation, fond of Daryun’s excitement.

“I’d love to sword fight with something as finely made as that!” He flung out a hand enthusiastically, flicking suds into Arslan’s hair and eyes, “I mean, did you see how artfully the gems on the hilt were arranged. It was such an elegant sword...” Daryun sighed wistfully.

Wiping the suds from his eyes, Arslan flicked them back at Daryun. “You know how to sword fight?” His mouth curved open in surprise.

“Yep, I’d like to say I’m fairly good at it too,” Daryun grinned proudly at him - still scrubbing dishes.

Arslan’s eyebrows furrowed a little, “Did Vahriz teach you how? He teaches me fencing even though I’m no good at it.” He tossed more bubbles from his hair.

Grabbing a handful of suds in response, Daryun ruffled his hair with them, “Yep, taught me for a few years and the quit when I started beating him. Sore loser said that he had nothing left to teach me if he couldn’t win a fight against me anymore.”

Laughing quietly, Arslan took Daryun’s tea towel to dry his bubble-filled hair with. Daryun snatched it back from him after a moment, “Hey! That’s mine-” He paused for a moment, pouting at the wet, unusable towel in his hands and placing it down “-how am I supposed to dry my dishes now?”

Quickly hiding his own so that it couldn’t be stolen, Arslan shrugged at him, “I don’t know, how will you dry them?”

Daryun narrowed his eyes at him, silently reaching for it again. He jokingly whipped the towel at Arslan, spraying him with water. Hands raised above his head Arslan slowly backed away, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. Stopping in his tracks, Arslan sniffed at the air, “Do you smell something burning?”

Sniffing as well, Daryun thought that he could, “Definitely, something’s burning. We should check our cupcakes.”

Both turned back towards the oven, eyes widening in concern at the little bit of black smoke wafting up from it. Hesitantly Daryun bent over to open the door, jumping back at the burst of heat from a fire that should not have been there. “Crap, crap, crap there’s a fire!” Panic-stricken he began swatting at it with the tea towel; the flames swelled, growing instead of diminishing in size. Daryun jerked away from it again.

Extra smoke setting them off, the fire alarm and sprinklers sprung to life. Water fell steadily, drenching them and the rest of the class as they all evacuated the room. The ringing was so loud that Daryun couldn’t hear what Isfan was saying, nor Shapur but he could tell that they were unimpressed. He wasn’t exactly impressed to be dripping wet either…  
Isfan begun guiding the students out to the front of the building, “The sprinklers should take care of the fire but just in case can those responsible-” his head snapped in the direction of Arslan and Daryun, eyeing them with clear, exasperated annoyance “-please get the fire extinguisher and put it out?”

Reluctantly Daryun pulled the extinguisher off the wall; aiming at his oven he sprayed carbon foam all over without really looking, just trying to cover as large an area as possible. Before following he turned the dial of the oven to off.

Outside everyone was assembled in a line to make accounting for people’s whereabouts easy. As soon as the stream of people exiting the building came to a halt, Isfan stood in front of them all pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. He began calling out names, ticking them off when people replied in the affirmative - it reminded Daryun of standing out in the cold for 20 minutes during a test when some idiot would set off the alarm. Back when he was in school, that is.

They stood sheepishly at the back of the line, avoiding any glares directed towards them.

“Daryun?”

“Here”

Isfan ticked his name off the list. “And finally, Arslan?”

“Present,” Arslan raised his hand in the air, waving it about a little until his name was ticked off too.

Isfan clicked his pen, folding up the paper “Okay, that’s everyone.”

Heads bowed low, the two of them trudged into the kitchen reluctantly. Whilst people filed back into the room, Arslan pulled the ruined cupcakes out of the oven. He smiled at them - just a little disappointed. The temperature of the oven had somehow ended up too high; he was certain that they’d have come out perfect if it hadn’t been. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten distracted either. He supposed charcoal cupcakes were better than becoming charcoal himself though. The charcoal went straight into the bin.

Isfan pointed towards Arslan and Daryun, “You two clean up your mess. As for everyone else I’m going to show you how to make the frosting.” Plugging in the mixer next to him, he began pouring cream cheese and icing sugar into the bowl along with a few other flavourings too. Then he pressed a button on it.

Simple enough to follow - even while Arslan unenthusiastically cleaned foam from his workbench, the oven, the floor and the cupboards; Daryun really had just sprayed wildly. It didn’t really matter though, at the end of the day he still didn’t have a birthday cake for Daryun nor would he have time to make him one when they got home. Sighing, Arslan dropped the sponge into his sink. He studied the rest of the class finishing their cupcakes slightly jealously, drying and stacking the remaining dishes as he did.

“I’m done cleaning and drying.” Arslan tugged on Daryun’s sleeve, “Can we go home? It’s not like there’s anything more for us to do here anymore.”

Daryun nodded, everyone else was pretty much done frosting anyway. Taking off their aprons they hung them up as Shapur inspected their work station. He called them over after scrutinizing it for a moment, “Okay you two are fine to go since it’s all clean,” his voice hardened, “and if you plan on making another fire don’t come back next time. If you do you’ll be banned - got it?”

“Understood” they glumly replied in unison to his threat. With one last glance they walked out the door to go home.

* * *

Elam almost had the banner up in the window when the doorbell rang, startled he dropped the unpinned side to the ground. Muttering frustratedly, he ignored it in favour of answering the door to a house that wasn’t even his.

“If you’re looking for Arslan or his parents or whoever they’re not ho-” He stopped short at the long slender box labelled with a picture of a sword being offered to him. Looking up at the offeror's face only added to his confusion. He pulled a face, “Uh, why are you giving me a sword?”

Étoile raised an eyebrow at him, “Delivery for Arslan Parsian, he said someone would be home to get it.” She dumped the sword box in his arms then thrust a touch screen pad and digital pen at him, “Just sign here alright?”

Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for him to hand them back to her, it annoyed Étoile how he struggled to balance both the pen, pad and the sword. After a moment he’d scribbled his name down then handed it back to her. His brows furrowed a little before he grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving, “Wait, I don’t live here. I’m not sure I can actually sign for it…”

She scowls at him then, “If you don’t live here what the hell did you sign it for? This is my last delivery of the day,” she stomps her foot for emphasis, “I just want to go home.” Étoile snaps her fingers in his face when she notices that Elam is no longer looking at her, rather past her.

Coming through the gates of the house are Arslan and Daryun, he mutters quietly to himself, though Étoile still hears him, “Ohh, I bet he bought this for Daryun… I better go hide it then.”

Her annoyance grows when he walks away without a second thought. He’d made a fuss about not living there then just ignored her. Whatever. She just wanted to go home, and the way to getting there was cycling, because she wasn’t actually old enough to drive a car. If only her job actually had a delivery driver instead of making her deliver packages on a stupid bicycle.

A bicycle, which just happened to have a flat tire by the looks of it. Although she could scream in frustration she resigns herself to sighing miserably instead. How far would it be to just walk home? Someone taps on her shoulder pulling her concentration away from how to get home. She whips around to face that kid again, Arslan, and he’s looking at her with some look shining in his eyes that she can’t quite place.

He points to her bike, “I can fix that flat tire for you, if you want?”

Étoile thinks she knows what was in his eyes and on his face now, it was just him being kind. She’s not sure why he would be, but he is and that’s all there really is to it.

“We have a spare in the shed so I’ll just change it for you…” He looks at her again, almost scrutinizingly this time then he nods in the direction of his house, “You can sit inside whilst you wait if you’d like to. I promise your bike won’t come to any harm.”

She bites back a small laugh when he crosses his heart like a child. She hesitates just a moment, not quite sure if she should take him up on that but she’s tired and her feet hurt and he’s offering. Pivoting towards it she heads inside the house, following after the guy who had been with Arslan when they first arrived. There’s a glimpse of a fond smile on his face as he watches them, she catches it just as he turns his back to them. Behind her she can hear the squeaking of the bike’s wheels as it’s dragged off towards the shed.

There are a couple things she notices about the hall when she walks inside; firstly it’s rather ornate - easily the fanciest house she’d ever seen - secondly it’s stark inside. A strange kind of coldness to it. That impression changes when she finds the living room, and it’s not that that room is any different - it’s much the same actually - but there’s people in this one. It doesn’t feel quite so lonely. What makes it feel warmer is the birthday banner up by the window and the stack of presents in the corner, it’s all the different birthday foods on the table. She sits down, waiting as suggested, an onlooker of warm scene.

“Hey, would you like to stay for the party? Since you’re here already.”

She’s surprised because she didn’t see him come in, she expected the invitation though, it seems just like him. To herself she quietly admits that joining in wouldn’t be so bad - especially since she at least recognises most of the people there. Arslan points them out for her again just in case, there’s Daryun’s uncle Vahriz, his friend Narsus, that boy called Elam and that’s it - just a small birthday party of five people, six including her.

Elam gestures towards the birthday cake on the the table, “Alright Daryun, I baked you a cake since I didn’t trust Arslan to actually make a decent one. Are you gonna blow out the candles now?”

Daryun steps towards the cake, sucking in a breath of air before he stops for a second, raising an eyebrow at Elam, “Wait, you sent me to those cooking classes too… Were you trying to get me to make my own birthday cake?”

Elam shakes his head, retorting “Nope. Just needed you not here. Now, blow out the candles so we can eat the cake and open the presents!”

Daryun complies, he blows out all twenty six candles in one breath but doesn’t bother making a wish. He doesn’t really need one. He just cuts the cake and hands out slices to everyone there before eating one himself. Étoile gingerly bites into hers, despite what she’d originally thought it would be, the cake is actually delicious. She finishes the rest in 2 minutes flat.

When everyone is finished Elam collects up the plates and takes them to the kitchen. As soon as he’s back they move onto opening presents. Mainly it’s just a bunch of normal presents - actions films and the like - but he grins delightedly at the new riding saddle Narsus buys for him. Jet black and cushioned for comfortable riding, it’s an elegant one for an elegant horse.

“Ah, Shabrang will love this! I can’t wait to ride him with it!”

He opens another one grimacing at the painting that it reveals. Narsus puffs his chest out proudly though, so he plasters on a less-horrified face and thanks him. Daryun sets it aside, taking the last present in his hands. He lifts the lid off the box to reveal the sword. He gazes at it awestruck, almost reverently removing it from the box. Gripping the hefty sword in both hands, Daryun swings it excitedly if a little carelessly.

“Hey! Be a little more careful with that, you’re gonna injure somebody!” Elam chastises him - he’d rather not have to take anyone to the hospital in an ambulance.

Daryun looks somewhat apologetic, but ultimately enthusiasm still wins over. The sword arcs through the air again making a whooshing sound, more controlled this time. Running his finger over all the jewels, he grins “Thank you so much! I can’t believe you got this for me. Damn, how I’d love to fight someone with this beauty…”

Vahriz turns to Arslan, “I hope I’m getting a sword like that for my birthday. It might just make me fight him again.”

Arslan laughs quietly, “Only if you keep teaching me how to fence long enough that I become better than him,” he nods towards Daryun who is showing off the sword to Narsus. Like always, they start bickering about something - this time it’s about who the better fencer is - the tip of the sword ends up dangerously close to the painting Narsus painstakingly made. His alarm doesn’t go unnoticed. Daryun edges it closer. In response Narsus throws his hands up placatingly, conceding that Daryun is better. He still grumbles under his breath.

Arslan disappears for a moment, reappearing with his sword from fencing in hand. Challenging Daryun he adopts the en garde stance, “Fight me Daryun!”

Daryun just shakes his head, lightly parrying the clumsy swing thrown at him (of course there’s nothing to worry about, rapiers always have a rubber cap on during practice). “Don’t think you’ll win!” He doesn’t even get to pretend to swordfight with Arslan before Elam steps in sighing. He takes the swords away from each of them, replacing them with wooden swords called bokken; he had found them in one of Arslan’s supply closets a while ago one games night.

Elam sighs exasperated, “If you’re gonna fight for fun don’t use real swords!” He leaves a couple others just in case anyone else wants to join in too.

Narsus picks one up, thinking he can take on both Daryun and Arslan, “Prepare to see the most artistic sword fighting to exist!”

Elam flops down on the couch placing his head in his hand. He blows out another breath of air and just watches them.

In all honesty, Étoile thinks they look like idiots. She bites back another laugh, she’s quite glad that her bike had had a flat tire.


	4. Chapter 4

The room that Elam stands in the doorway to is a mess with old toys strewn about the wooden floor in almost a circle from the centre, he sighs at the thought of cleaning it up. 

“Hey Elam, did you bring your old toys to go through for the beneficence day?” Arslan asks him, springing up from what could be described as the eye of the storm, if the storm were one of dolls and stuffed animals.

He lifts up the canvas bag in his right hand to show him, Arslan eyes the graphic print on it for a moment then holds out his hand expectantly. Elam loops the handles around Arslan’s wrist, he tugs the bag open and peers inside, wide grin forming on his face as he pulls out a spiderman action figure, “Cool! You have my favourite hero!”

Elam steps closer to him, digging around in the bag himself, he produces a Hawkeye figure and holds it up to eye level, “Yeah, but Hawkeye’s my favourite because he's skilled with a bow and that's pretty awesome. Even more awesome is that in the original comics he's deaf, that's pretty inspiring for disabled kids, y’know?” Elam tells him. 

And even though his voice lacks the same obvious excitement as his, Arslan has long since learnt to read him by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he talks about it, by the way that he stands just a little bit straighter and holds the figure to his chest. Arslan smiles softly, he's more than fond of seeing his friend so happy. 

“Yeah! It's great because it shows that even with a disability you can be anything - even a superhero!” Arslan agrees, enthusiastically nodding his head, “Hawkeye is Daryun’s third favourite, besides Thor and Captain America.” 

‘Yeah, they're kinda cool too.” Elam glances back down at the figure sadly, he doesn't really want to give it away. 

“He says Spiderman is lame though, says it's because he reminds him of a teenage Narsus, except Narsus didn't have a six pack and liked art too.” Arslan gently takes the figure out of Elam’s hand as he laughs, (he takes pride in drawing that laugh out of his friend, he's glad that he doesn't always feel the need to be so serious around him anymore.) Arslan sets the two action figures down carefully on his bed, kept apart from all of the unsorted toys, “Anyway, we can't get rid of these.”

“Wow. Was Narsus that much of a nerd?” Elam asks, still in stitches and clutching his arms around his sides. 

“What do you mean was? He still is!” Arslan jokes, mumbling an afterthought, “Though he's more of an art nerd than a science nerd now, I guess.”

Elam carefully steps around the toys to sit in the middle of them, he drags Arslan with him by the sleeve. Picking up the nearest stuffed animal in front of him, Elam inspects it for any rips in the stitching or missing eyes. When he finds nothing wrong with it he holds it up to Arslan. Silently answering the question, Arslan nods his head to say that it can be donated; Elam sets the toy aside in a basket labelled “donations.” 

They get into a rhythm of deciding whether the toys can stay or go, picking them up, checking them over for injury and then questioning whether they can be kept or not. Most of the toys wind up in the basket, too many for them to be of any emotional value. Occasionally though, Arslan shakes his head and tenderly takes the toy from Elam’s hand, placing them on the bed. It builds up an eclectic collection of old, tattered toys that he stares at fondly. 

They’re special to him, each and every one, he doesn't want to get rid of them. Knowing they're safe, he quietly returns to helping Elam sort the rest of the toys, neither of them break the silence, though Elam wants to ask what makes each one so important. After all, every toy has a story to it when it means something. 

Breaking the silence between them by means of a creaking door, Alfarid strides in, calling out, “Guys, I’m here!”

Taking another step into the room, Alfarid stands on one of the still unsorted toys, slipping and crashing into the basket. A few toys go flying out, one of them hitting Elam on the head; Alfarid sits slightly dazed in the basket, limbs splayed everywhere and giggles sheepishly, “So um, what were you guys doing?”

Elam scowls at her, rubbing the impact spot, “We were enjoying ourselves but I guess that’s over now.”

Long used to his sass, Alfarid simply sticks her tongue out at him. Despite Elam’s sourness towards her, Arslan laughs at her. She laughs along too, guessing herself just how ridiculous she must look. The three blink at an unexpected flash and the sound of a camera shutter, Etoile stands in the doorway, polaroid camera in hand and held up in front of her face. Lowering it, she tugs the photograph printing in the bottom out and fans it around. The photograph develops, ink drying and the image forming in blotches. 

She looks at it and grins, chuckling just slightly, then she holds it out for the others to see. They smile and Alfarid takes the photo in her own hand. 

“This one’s a keeper!” she beams. “It’s definitely going in my memory box.”

Etoile points to the window where opened light blue and white curtains let the sunlight filter in through the glass, “Yeah, the lighting in here made sure it came out great. But that should be going in my memory box, I took the picture.”

Pouting, she holds it out for the other girl, but Elam quickly snatches it away and squints at it. He cracks a smile and shoves it into Arslan's face. 

“It’s cute, we look cute in this photo don't we Denka?” he pauses, considering thoughtfully for a moment, then adds, “Alfarid doesn't.”

She gasps in outrage, insulted and ready to fire expletives back at him, Etoile speaks over the top of her, vexed, “Wait, why did you call him ‘Denka’?”

Alfarid resorts to crossing her eyes and arms and sticking her tongue out at Elam in a huff, he pays her no mind and gestures towards the bed in the corner of the room, “Because he has a king sized bed, in like every room, but we're still kids, so Denka.”

She glances to Arslan, ‘Denka’, questioningly but to her surprise he doesn't seem to mind the nickname. She turns her head away rapidly when she realises that she's caught his eye with her own. He jumps up, excitedly putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“You should take another one,” he tells her, voice as warm as a sunny day, “but this time you should get in too!”

She nods, still a little surprised, then finds her voice to reply, “Of course, it wouldn't be the perfect photo if I weren't in it.”

He laughs happily and bounces off to the pile of toys on the bed. 

“Before you take it,” he says, waving Alfarid over to his side, “we need to organise the toys on here for the background.”

They align them against the wall, organising them by size with the largest teddy bears at the back and action figures sitting in the front. Arslan grabs Elam’s arm and drags him over to sit in front of the bed with him and Alfarid. Etoile sets a fifteen second timer and places the camera on the bed side table, seating herself next to Arslan. Seconds later the camera flashes and she fights the urge to blink. She’d set it to go off three times, one photo for each of them. 

The polaroid deposits the photographs in front of it, she idly goes through them, pausing and deciding which she likes best, Alfarid making the peace sign whilst Elam glares at her, Arslan and herself making silly faces; maybe the one when all four of them are smiling and Elam and Alfarid have given up their bickering. She decides on the one where, for some strange reason, Arslan's smile is directed at her instead of the camera. She pockets that one carefully and leaves the other three open to the others’ choice. 

Turning to Elam, she picks up a stuffed horse off of the wooden floor, dangling it in the air by the tail. She scrutinises the toy, swinging it from side to side, “So Elam, why all the toys? We helping a tragic case of hoarding or? I mean, if so I guess it's a productive use of a Thursday afternoon… ”

Elam laughs, “No, our school is having a beneficence day so we're going through all of Arslan's old stuff to sell some and raise money.”

“You can donate that horse by the way,” Arslan chimes in. 

Etoile nods, dumping it amongst the other sacrificed toys. “What about this ratty old bear? Are you sure you want to keep it?” she asks just a little brashly. Its fur is worn and discoloured, one of the eyes is missing and some of the stitching is coming away, letting the stuffing spill out in small patches. They couldn't even donate it if they had wanted to. 

Still, Arslan nods almost shyly, softly replying, “Yes… I want to keep it.”

She carefully passes it to him, gazing thoughtfully in his direction, head cocked slightly to the side, “That’s important to you, isn’t it?” she says slowly.

“Yes, it’s the only thing I have left of my birth parents. They gave it to me when I was five.”

Alfarid’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Your birth parents?”

Smiling almost sadly at her, Arslan sighs quietly, ‘Yeah, they died in a car accident when I was eight.” He brightens up then - Etoile can't help but think the expression reads as fake - adding, “I'm okay with donating almost anything, just not this, okay?” 

Elam silently pats his arm, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Arslan briefly taps Elam's hand with his own in acknowledgement. 

Clapping a hand gently on his shoulder, Etoile reassures him, “Well that's fine, isn't it? You don't have to give up everything of yourself to make a difference to others.” She grins broadly at him then, firmly stating, “Giving to charity is a good thing Arslan, you just need to make sure you keep something for yourself too.”

When he beams at her in response, agreeing resolutely, she thinks she might just have to change her opinion of him as a spoiled rich boy. “Why don't I take that and fix it for you?” she asks, pointing at the stuffing spilling out like Winnie the Pooh’s, “I know how to sew.”

This time it's Elam's turn to be surprised, “Really?” he enquires almost incredulously. 

“Yup.”

“Do you think you could teach me then? I'm no good at it past stitching up holes.” Elam points to the dark brown fabric patches on the elbows of his deep green jumper as if they were evidence of his lack of skills. 

Etoile laughs then, quickly obliging herself, “Yeah, I think that would be fun. I could even teach you how to make clothes, if you want me to,” she says, closely scrutinising his work and mumbling, “though I think you're plenty good already.”

She doesn't notice the camera go off again, snapping a shot of her intensely staring at Elam's elbow whilst he looks to be concentrating equally as hard. Giggles escape Alfarid, betraying her mischief as she shows off the picture to Arslan who giggles along with her. 

Cutting off the giggling, she turns to Arslan again, “Well do you?” she almost demands the answer of him, “I promise no harm will come to it whilst in my care. Just good old stuffing surgery.”

Easily agreeing, he hands the toy over to her, “Yes, I trust you'll do a great job.”

Daryun interrupts them, knocking loudly and pushing open the door to the room. “Dinner's ready kids. Come down and eat.”

“You didn't cook it now, did you?” Elam worries at him, Daryun isn't someone he would trust to make food. Responsible, usually, but he's just as much of a disaster in the kitchen as Narsus is, if his attempt at a cake is anything to go by. 

Daryun's expression morphs into one of offense, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in an annoyed line, “Yes I did, I don't really think there's anywhere to go wrong with spaghetti bolognaise, Elam.”

Holding his glare a moment, Elam eventually relents, accepting that Daryun perhaps might not be as useless a cook as he is a baker. Though he does question why Daryun decided to make it himself, if he remembers correctly, Elam believes that Arslan's household employed a cook already, and that it certainly wasn't Daryun. 

Daryun smiles in response, “Okay then, I'll drop you lot off at home after you've finished dinner then.”.

Etoile takes the bear home with her. 

*

After her Tuesday afternoon shift in the shop, Etoile wanders around the town centre a little bit, gazing in shop windows without entering, pressing her hands against the glass when she takes interest in something and peering in curiously only to pull herself away a moment later. Eventually she arrives in front of the store she actually intends to enter and pushes open the door. It's a small shop with little room and fewer regular customers, but the products are good quality and inexpensive, so it's her chosen place to shop. 

They have pretty fabrics hung on spools all across the far wall, Etoile likes looking at them, running her fingers across each one as she tries to decide which one she needs to buy. Pausing, she takes the bear from the plain brown satchel at her hip and studies it, tapping a finger against her lips in thought. A patchwork job would probably last longer, she thinks, than just sewing up the bear. As long as she finds the right fabric and colour.

This one, she thinks, feeling a soft and velvet-like deep brown fabric. She buys half a meter, some brown thread and a button that matches the eye of the bear. She pays for the items and is almost out of the door before she remembers that some stuffing might be useful. Purchasing the stuffing, she leaves and makes her way home. 

Her apartment is empty when she arrives, Barcacion - the great uncle that she lives with and is rather fond of - isn't home, leaving Etoile to quietly sit in the arm chair by the window as she repairs the bear. It doesn't take long to fix, but as her needle dips in and out of the fabric, sewing the toy's wound shut, Etoile considers why Arslan, with all his money, didn't just pay for the bear to be sewn back up. At first she can't think of any real reason, eventually however, she thinks that maybe it was because he was scared it would be changed beyond recognition and he wouldn't have anything left of the people who formed his early life. After that, she's careful to make sure the bear remains recognisable. 

Her chance to return the bear doesn't come until the Beneficence Day three days later. She wanders through the gate idly, taking her time to enjoy the afternoon sun that spills over the buildings around her, casting shadows and golden rays alike. The school grounds are unusually busy, but that's hardly surprising given the day's event, still, the crowd is so thick that she struggles to see where she can find Arslan, Elam or Alfarid. What gives it away is the circle of young children and their parents circling around one particular covered table, she figures that nothing other than a ridiculous amount of toys would draw that kind of attention and starts weaving her way through the throng of people to get there. 

When Arslan catches sight of her amongst the crowd he beams at her brightly and waves to her to catch her attention, she smiles gently and holds up the bear, moving one of its arms from side to side to wave back at him. He laughs cutely, clutching his sides with one arm, Etoile quite likes the look of his laughing face. Quietly, and to herself, Etoile giggles along with him, holding one hand up to her mouth to hide it. Upon arrival in Arslan's little covered stall she deposits the bear in the front pocket of his apron, situating it with its arms hanging out over the top as Arslan's face begins to flame whenever her hands accidentally brush at his chest. She steps back, peers at him critically and smiles, satisfied with how it looks. 

“Now you look like a toy maker, one who likes giving gifts to little children.” She tells him, patting his shoulder momentarily. 

“That doesn't sound like such a bad job, actually.” He says thoughtfully, turning from her and serving a bright eyed little girl who eagerly buys the cutest stuffed rabbit Etoile has ever seen. Arslan holds a finger to his lips and leans down to whisper conspiratorially to her, “I'll tell you a secret about that rabbit, but you have to promise to take good care of her.”

The little girl nods her head, wearing a serious expression and crossing her heart, “I promise!” She says gravely in a hushed whisper. 

Arslan looks pensively at her for a moment, “Okay,” he tells the girl, “That rabbit is the princess of the rabbit kingdom, but no one can know or the foxes will find her and plunge the kingdom into turmoil.”

She gasps and glances astonished down at the bunny in her arms. 

“So you need to protect her, you see, brave lady knight, I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you, I'll look after her well.” The little girl declares, leaving and going back to her mother. 

Etoile watches fondly and just slightly awed, she never realised just how good Arslan was with children, she doesn't quite know what to say, it reminds her of a game she used to play as a child. “That was adorable,” slips past her lips as he turns back to face her. 

“I used to play a similar game when I was a kid, my bear used to be the prince of a fallen kingdom,” Arslan tells her wistfully, “Sometimes - as often as I could, actually - I used to get Daryun to play it with me, he was always this brave warrior, see.”

Etoile’s own memories are somewhat the same, it’s a rather nostalgic feeling, “Ah, me too, I was a valiant knight, fighting for my kingdom in the name of God, well, a made up one that I called Yaldaboath. It was fun.”

He smiles softly at her, probably imagining when she was ten years old, running around and swinging a foam sword. At least she can imagine him playing with teddy bears straight back. 

“Arslan, you can switch out with me now. Go enjoy the rest of the event,” Elam says from behind her, appearing out of nowhere and startling Etoile just slightly. 

Arslan nods, gently grabbing Etoile's hand and tugging her along with him, a mischievous sparkle shining in his eyes. He doesn't say much, concentrating on navigating through the crowd of people, stopping at a table with a crudely set up game of ring toss that offers prizes in the form of toys, money and cupcakes. 

“Do you want to play?” Arslan asks her, pulling his hand away and reaching in his pocket for change to pay with. 

Ignoring the emptiness of her hand, Etoile agrees, reaching for the rings, “Sure, but pay for two games I want to know who's better at this game.” She says, challenging him to test his aim. 

He has fairly good aim, actually, which shouldn't surprise Etoile given his school has beaten hers at mixed baseball before. His first two throws go well, the rings hang on the necks of the bottles but he overshoots the last one just slightly and misses. He shrugs somewhat disappointedly, staring longingly at a giant chocolate cupcake offered as a prize. “Guess I'm not getting that cake then,” he says and Etoile swears she can hear genuine sadness in his voice. 

Grabbing the second set of three rings, Etoile aims carefully, flinging them with just the right amount of force that they land on the bottlenecks, spinning noisily around them like a hula hoop. She doesn't even have to say what prize she wants, the bored student hands over the chocolate cupcake immediately. Etoile shoves it towards Arslan, offering it to him. 

“You look hungry, so take it.” She half commands him. 

Instead of eating it all himself, Arslan splits it in half and gives the bigger piece back to her, “Thanks,” he tells her with an impish grin. 

There's not really much else to do at the beneficence day, having come so late and working on the teddy bear stall, they've missed all the events like races and talent shows. Etoile quickly finds herself growing bored despite her company and the different little games they play - actually, the one with the water guns is fun since she gets to soak him and he gapes at her in open shock - though she holds it in and doesn't say anything, at least she has time to think for once.

The crowd has thinned by the time he turns to her, still damp from her earlier attacks, “There’s not really anything left to do here, is there?”

Etoile shakes her head, “Not really, I think we missed all the good stuff, unfortunately.”

Arslan hums in agreement, making a little noise and obviously thinking about something else , what exactly, Etoile isn’t sure. He holds his hand out expectantly, waiting for her to take it again, “Let’s go then, I know somewhere nice.”

Hesitantly, Etoile takes his hand, following him through the grounds and avoiding the last few stragglers there, her cheeks feel decidedly warm.

“Where are we going?” She asks as they leave the gates, heading away from the school and in the opposite direction from his house, moving farther from the town centre with every step. 

“You'll see,” he tells her cryptically, staring up at the top of a grassy hill from the base of it.

A small playpark sits on the summit of the hill, surrounded by a bright coloured fence and trees dotted around behind it with swings and slides and a giant climbing frame among the things to do there. Arslan tugs her hand and starts climbing it, bringing Etoile to realise that he wanted to take her to the park. Sometimes, she thinks, he’s a little bit of a kid and a little cliché but she doesn’t mind it so much. Silently challenging Arslan to a race, Etoile removes her hand from his, sprinting up the hill ahead of him. She sees him break into a run as she glances behind her, the corners of his lips curved up into a wide smile.

Etoile wins the race, sitting in the grass and panting at the top of the hill as she waits for him to struggle his way up.

“You’re many times fitter than I am, Etoile, I don’t know how you managed to run the whole way up,” He tells her, bent over with his hands on his thighs and wheezing to catch his breath.

Etoile shrugs casually, “I cycle to school.”

Pushing herself up from the grass, Etoile waits for him to stop wheezing and takes herself to the swings; she’s always been fond of swings, something about them is relaxing and they always seem to have the amazing power of clearing her mind. Arslan sits on the one next to her, swinging quietly aside from the creaking of the chains that attach the seat to the bar and the scuffing sound of his feet when he kicks off the ground. It’s peaceful.

“You know, I always used to come to this park as a kid, you know, before I was taken to Castle Andragoras.” He says softly, breaking their comfortable silence with a mournful tone of regret, “I don’t really remember it.”

“Was it fun?” Etoile asks in an almost-whisper.

“Yes.” Arslan abruptly stops swinging, getting up and holding out his hand for her again.

She lets the swing stop naturally before she stands, though she doesn’t take his hand this time, there’s no way for her to get lost in the little play park. After a confused moment, he lets his hand drop and begins climbing the giant climbing frame that she noticed earlier.

“Come up here, Etoile, this is what I wanted to show you.” He calls down to her, already a short distance from the ground.

She obeys, scaling her way up through the organised mess of cold metal bars until she reaches just below the top, where Arslan sits on one of the bars, distractedly swinging his legs as he gazes over the city. As she sits beside him, watching the same view as him, Etoile thinks she knows why he brought her there. The sunset is beautiful, pinks, purples, oranges and reds taking over from the sunny blue bathe every tree and building in their hues. If she remembers correctly, it’s the start of magic hour, or twilight.

“It’s so pretty, I’m glad you brought me to see it,” she voices with some awe.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so,” he whispers on an exhaled breath, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a fond smile.

Etoile sways slightly and Arslan places his hand on hers to help her keep her balance.

“Do you remember this?” She asks quietly.

“Yes.”


End file.
